


He's Back

by ielenia



Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 07:59:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6696484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ielenia/pseuds/ielenia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jessica realizes who took Hope Schlottman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He's Back

**Author's Note:**

> This scene was so well done in the show that I couldn't resist doing my own version of it.

Jessica followed the trail to wherever it lead her, which in this case was into a lingerie store. According to Hope’s parents, the girl she was looking for was frugal, and the pictures she’d seen hadn’t shown a girl who was prone to fancy lingerie. It seemed out of character, and that meant suspicious. Hope was going overboard to make her boyfriend happy. She was either an idiot in love, or she was being conned. Jessica looked at the manikins, with their lacy garments. It was the sort of thing she would never wear, preferring her black leather jacket and torn jeans (although the expensive style was exactly what she had worn when Kilgrave had controlled her wardrobe) (“Atrocious sense of fashion, but that can be remedied”)--  
Birch Street. Higgins Drive.  
Jessica hated cases like these. She got them, every once in awhile, the cases that hit a little too close to home. They always cost more, too. In her mind, she was already making room in her budget for the extra booze she would doubtless be drinking tonight. Possibly every night until she found Hope.  
She continued along her trail. The next stop was something called Niku, on Elizabeth Street. Maybe they’d have a proper lead--  
No.  
No way.  
It was the same place--the same exact place--Al Rosso--  
She felt something almost like vertigo (although she’d never been scared of heights, even before she could sort-of fly), it felt like she was tipping on the precipice of something that she couldn’t allow herself to think, something that couldn’t be true, because he was dead, goddamn it.  
It couldn’t be. The words in her head were spoken in Trish’s calm voice, the voice of every sane moment she’d managed to have in the past year, telling her that paranoia was just paranoia. She’d been having flashbacks ever since Kilgrave, more symptoms of her goddamned PTSD, and tendencies to overreact to every little thing. Like the time she thought she’d seen his purple suit, or when she’d almost killed someone whose British accent had sounded a little too much like Kilgrave. That Hope had gone to this particular restaurant was just bad luck--God knows she’d had more than her share of that--and besides, it wasn’t even Italian anymore. Kilgrave wouldn’t be getting Asian Fusion.  
She walked in. Maybe someone knew something useful about Hope.  
The maître d' had clearly seen something. She probed deeper, ignoring the twinge of dread that she felt, the paranoia that she’d been trying to suppress all year absolutely sure of what she would find.  
With every word the maître d' spoke, Jessica’s mind grew closer and closer to an unimaginable conclusion--  
“They came here last Tuesday.”  
One month exactly since Hope vanished--no, it wasn’t, it couldn’t be, she was overreacting, it was a coincidence--but each word somehow felt like another puzzle piece falling into place--like another nail in her coffin--  
She kept listening to each line the man spoke, kept him talking, searching his words for clues, even though some part of her already knew exactly what she’d find, but she kept him talking, because she was a PI, and PIs kept on asking and listening, even when--  
“Her...companion...wanted a particular table at the back, and there was a couple already sitting there, and I...I lost my mind, or something, and made the couple leave.”  
No. It wasn’t possible--it couldn’t be--and here was this waiter, handing her what some part of her already knew to be the truth, one irrefutable piece at a time--  
He was still talking. Hope’s companion (--and she knew, knew exactly who it was, knew it all too well, and she couldn’t--it couldn’t be--) had made them give him wine for free (and she still remembered exactly what type of wine he liked--)  
The table in the back. The black, expensive, elegant dress that he had “bought” for her only the night before, too smooth against her skin. Elegant, refined, trapped, a trophy all dressed up. And sitting across the table, him. Kilgrave. Their anniversary. “You’ll love it.” She would love it. Trapped. Helpless. Smiling, that same smile that he always asked her for. The same smile she always gave him, when nothing in her could remember what happiness looked like. Her Kilgrave smile flashed, and he was satisfied.  
“He ordered a classic Italian Pasta--”  
“Amatriciana.” She finished the sentence in a half-choked whisper, because didn’t she know it so well, the Pasta Amatriciana, his favorite dish--  
He was back. He was back, and all the terror and the horror that had been receding, ever so slowly with every passing day since the crash, every passing day without him in it, was back, in full force. Her instincts screamed at her to RUN, run away from him, run while she still could, run before he found her again, before he trapped her again like a fly caught in honey.  
She ran. Ran as far and fast as she could, because she could still do it, could still run, and if she ran far enough, he would never find her again.

***

He had sent the Shlottmans to her. He was taunting her, he wanted her to know that he was alive, that he was coming for her, and in the meantime, Hope Schlottman was being raped. But he was back. He was coming for her, he wanted her to find him, and she had to run. Run as far away as possible. She could use Hope’s money, Hope wouldn’t be needing it, and go as far away as possible. He’d never find her in China.  
Hope’s credit card didn’t work. One plan down the drain. It was fine. There were other ways to get money.  
She couldn’t get payed early. She needed money, she needed it now, and she tried to fight the rising panic that she couldn’t escape, couldn’t ever escape.  
She went to see Trish. It was a desperate measure, she hadn’t seen Trish since leaving without a word six months ago. Trish would demand explanations. But there was nowhere else to go.  
“I need money.” She winced at how callous she sounded, but it was the truth, and Jessica was never one for dressing up her words. Trish deserved better, but there were no other options and every second spent in the city was another second of danger.  
Jessica felt like screaming when Trish didn’t believe her, saying it was just her PTSD, that she was overreacting. Didn’t Trish know that there was a voice in Jessica’s head that had said the exact same thing, that she had fought as hard as she could against the knowledge, the terrible, terrible knowledge, that he was back? Didn’t she know that Jessica would never have come to Trish if she hadn’t been absolutely certain, absolutely desperate and scared? But Trish didn’t know, because Trish had no idea what it meant that he was back, that he was back and hunting for her, for Jessica. Not Trish. Trish would never know what it was like, having Kilgrave hunting you.  
And Trish wanted her to be a hero. To fight. But she didn’t understand, because there was no fighting Kilgrave. She had learned that lesson the hard way. There was no resisting his commands. One word and you were...his. And Jessica would never, ever let that happen again. Instead, she would run as far as she could, and pray he never caught up with her.

***

Jessica knew. Trish didn’t know what it was like, belonging to Kilgrave, which was why she still thought that Jessica could be a hero. But Jessica knew. She knew what it was like, which was why she was running, why she was doing the sane thing and getting as far away from Kilgrave as possible.  
It was also why her mind was showing her, over and over again, what was sure to be happening to Hope Shlottman right now. And she couldn’t stop thinking about Hope’s parents, and their desperation.  
Jessica hated cases like these. And this was so far beyond any of her other cases that there was no point even putting them in the same category. But it was still a case. And Jessica would see it through to the end.  
“I need to make a stop.”


End file.
